


all the world outside your door

by remiges



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Shower Sex, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Winner's Room (Hockey RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23640586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiges/pseuds/remiges
Summary: Sid tries to get Flower back on topic. "Voracek didn't come back after the second, Couts doesn't do anything with more than one person, and I'd prefer not to do anything with Raffl. So that leaves us with—""Giroux?" Flower asks, something amused in the curve of his lips."Ask the officiant," Sid replies, ignoring the knowing look Flower and Tanger exchange. "We'll have to see if he's up for it."Flower mutters something that sounds a lot like, "When isn't he, for you?" but it's quiet enough that Sid chooses to pretend he hadn't heard.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Marc-Andre Fleury/Claude Giroux
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79





	all the world outside your door

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt: _sid/claude(/maf or /tanger), double-teamed in the winner's room_. Title from [Retrograde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBUF-MdjbLQ) by Maggie Rogers.

"Hey, do you want to come to the winner's room with me?" Sid asks Flower as soon as he reads the task the officiant hands him. "It's a sex thing, but it needs two people to fill it." 

Flower is a few stalls down talking to Rusty, who'd had a good night despite their loss, but at Sid's question he looks up and nods. 

"Sure. Give me a minute?" 

Sid nods and turns his attention back to gathering up his stuff. He's glad Flower said yes, because there aren't many people he would choose to come with him for a sex task, let alone this one. You have to have a pretty solid relationship before you decide to throw sex into the mix, unless you want to make things weird. Flower's always been good at navigating things like that though, and it's not like they've never had sex before. Nothing beyond friends who help each other out with tasks, admittedly, but still. It counts. 

Flower sits down next to him. "So, who do you want from the Flyers?" he asks. 

"Gostisbehere?" Sid throws out. 

"Pick someone else," Tanger chimes in, not looking up from where he's pulling on his sweats. "He doesn't like sex." 

Sid shrugs, already thinking of the next possibility, but Flower seems distracted. "Wait, really? Don't he and Sheary always go off together?" 

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure they don't go _off_ together," Tanger answers, making a jerking off motion. 

Flower nods sagely. "That explains it, then." He starts talking about a theory he has about non-sexual tasks which Sid has heard at least four times before, and Tanger has _definitely_ heard. Sid crosses a couple more names off his mental list and tries to get Flower back on topic. 

"Voracek didn't come back after the second, Couts doesn't do anything with more than one person, and I'd prefer not to do anything with Raffl. So that leaves us with—" 

"Giroux?" Flower asks, something amused in the curve of his lips. 

"Ask the officiant," Sid replies, ignoring the knowing look Flower and Tanger exchange. "We'll have to see if he's up for it." 

Flower mutters something that sounds a lot like, "When isn't he, for you?" but it's quiet enough that Sid chooses to pretend he hadn't heard. 

To the surprise of no one, Claude's up for it. Whether he's up for _double penetration (rival)_, as the task on the piece of paper reads, is anyone's guess, but Sid's got a good feeling about this. He remembers a rumor about Simmonds fisting him for an intra-team task a couple of years ago, though he's not going to bring it up to Flower. He has enough ammunition as it is.

The officiant who comes to bring them to the divining room has long black hair down to her waist and colorful tattoos on her hands and face. She's new, filling in for Luis who's on paternity leave, and Sid can't for the life of him remember her name. Something with a D, he thinks. Maybe a kind of flower? Whatever her name, she leads them to the divining room and heads toward the back, leaving them just inside the door. 

The room is full of anything a divine entity could need to communicate—a brazier for scorching letters in paper, a tiny bowl full of water and oil, a laser printer with no wifi connection, a harp that covers the entire wall. Sid always enjoys looking at the new additions, seeing the different methods the gods use to communicate their tasks. The officiant relays it all to the team, and when the gods are watching, no one is stupid enough to twist their words. 

The visiting team uses their own officiant and portable equipment, and Sid wonders sometimes how they differ, if officiants have their own trade secrets. However the tasks are received, each team gets one, no matter the outcome of the game. After all, there's no point in favoring only the winning team—the gods thrive on nothing more than competition. 

"You know, what would you have done if I'd said yes to Raffl?" Flower asks as they wait for the officiant to return with the Hector strings. 

"Do you want to go ask him?" Sid says blandly. "Because we could still do that." 

Flower rolls his eyes. "It'd serve you right if I did," he mutters, but lets the conversation drop. When the officiant comes back, she heads to Flower first, so Sid watches fish swim in an aquarium against the wall, their pale bodies darting in and out of a series of model castles. He's not sure if they're for divine communication, or if they're the equivalent of waiting room entertainment. Either way, they look well cared for.

"Here you go," the officiant says when she's done with Flower, and Sid holds out his hand for the red string. 

He'd used to worry about this part. Not because he was planning on doing something to cause the string to burn, like pushing people into things they didn't want to do, but because people are unpredictable. Stress, anxiety, a sudden change of heart—any of that can cause the string to burn, as Hector's protection manifests itself in pain... or worse. 

Sid doesn't worry anymore, though. He's been burned before, and not just with tasks that involved sex. The string doesn't scar if you act to mitigate the situation—it's more a warning system before Hector decides to step in for real. The urban myths about people losing hands to the string are probably just that: myths. And if they aren't, Sid thinks ruefully, the guy probably got what he deserved for ignoring Hector's warning to stop. The gods may be capricious, but they aren't _monsters_. They have their own sets of rules for engagement.

"You're good to go," the officiant says with a half-smile as she finishes the last knot. The red string almost seems to glow against Sid's skin. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you where the winner's room is. Have a good night." 

"Thanks, Dehlia," Flower says, and so that's what her name is. It's a good thing Sid hadn't tried calling her Daisy. 

"We've got it from here," he adds. "Have a safe drive home." 

Dehlia raises a hand in thanks, then slips back into the divining room. To do what, Sid doesn't know. Maybe feed the fish. 

"Coming?" Flower asks, already halfway down the hall. Sid shakes himself and sets off after him, the route as familiar as anything.

The Pens' winner's room is like the divining room in that it changes alongside various trends in tasks. There's always a bed and toys for different sex-related tasks, but not all gods ask for sexual tasks to win favor. There's a brazier in the corner and a cabinet full of dried herbs for burning, which is another common task. Those are always the easiest ones—simply light a plant on fire and receive a blessing. People argue about whether more difficult tasks confer stronger blessings or not, but Sid's not a theologian. He doesn't worry about it. 

Some teams attract gods who have specific subsets of tasks, like bloodletting or creating things. Sid remembers one time PK's task was to create a song of praise for Basur, and Sid was practically in tears by the time he'd gotten it down. His own task was to grow a mature oak tree, if he remembers correctly, so at least one of them had gotten a fulfillable task. As for the bloodletting, that usually has to be negotiated. To the surprise of no one, the Hector strings tend to go straight to 'searing' if you try carving someone up without their permission. 

"Nervous?" Flower asks inside the winner's room, kicking his shoes off and sitting down on the bed. 

Sid shoots him a look, but is saved from responding by Claude slipping through the door. His hair is still damp from the showers, and he's wearing gray sweats and a smile. Sid feels his stomach flutter despite himself, even though he's still disappointed about their loss. It's a good thing Flower hadn't been in net tonight.

"Hey," Flower says, raising a hand. Claude looks vaguely surprised to see him before appearing to shrug it off. 

"Hey. We fucking?" Claude asks, and at Sid's nod, says, "Cool," and that's that. He strips off his sweatshirt and drops it to the floor, crosses the room, and kisses Sid without fanfare.

If Sid's being honest with himself, he's been worked up since the end of the game, adrenaline and disappointment channeled into this. He cups Claude's neck, bites at his lip, and Claude meets him head-on. They don't usually move this fast, but Sid's willing to follow wherever Claude's leading them. 

Flower wolf whistles from the bed, and Claude pulls back enough to say, "Voyeur," like he isn't putting on a show just for him. 

"I mean, we're not actually—" Sid starts, but gets cut off by Claude kissing him again. 

They make it onto the bed pretty quickly after that, Claude's shirt dropped on the floor and his sweats shimmied out of in a way that is truly indecent. He climbs into Sid's lap naked, and Sid curls his hands around his waist, enjoys the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes. Flower runs an experimental hand down Claude's back, but beyond flicking his eyes to Flower, Claude doesn't seem bothered. 

"A little overdressed, aren't you?" Claude asks Sid as his dick rubs against Sid's sweats. 

"I was going to say," Flower comments as Sid opens up his mouth to point out whose fault _that_ is, "if you have all of your sex fully clothed, maybe we need to have a talk." 

Claude snickers and leans back into Flower's hand in what looks like tacit approval to continue what he's doing. Sid's glad they're getting along, but he can't help but wish they were bonding over something else. 

"Here, off," Flower says, tugging at the back of Sid's shirt, and Sid puts his arms up rather than argue. Even with his help, the shirt still gets stuck halfway, and Sid… Sid laughs. He doesn't mean to, but sex is fun, especially like this. Flower wrangles his shirt the rest of the way off, and Sid doesn't want to know what Claude's version of 'helping' would be, so he gets his pants off himself, and then there's nothing between them but skin. 

Sid can track Flower taking his shirt off in his periphery, but most of his attention is on Claude. He's a warm weight in Sid's lap, all powerful thighs and grabbable ass, and they move against each other lazily, some of the urgency Claude had brought into the room with him fading. 

"Hey, can I fuck you?" Sid asks, scratching lightly down Claude's back. 

Claude nods. "Winner picks the position," he reminds Sid, smug as anything, and Sid ignores the look Flower shoots him, ignores the reminder that they've been together like this for long enough to have sex routines. He reaches up to kiss Claude again. 

It's not like they always fuck when the Pens play the Flyers. The team rotates who they send to try and complete tasks, but between people who don't want to participate and personal considerations, Sid has ended up here a not insignificant number of times before. Even then, they don't always fuck. Maybe Sid can't actually remember when the last time was that they _hadn't_, regardless of their tasks, but that's beside the point. 

By the time they've sorted out lube and condoms and positions—Sid on his back, Claude riding him—Claude has sucked a hickey on Sid's throat and Sid has almost forgotten that there's more to this task than seeing how many noises he can wring out of Claude's mouth. Flower's been pretty hands-off for the most part beside getting lube and condoms like a glorified sex caddy, seemingly content to touch Claude and trade a few kisses, but otherwise let Sid run the show. 

Claude, for his part, seems like he's having a good time. He's found a rhythm that's driving Sid insane, just a touch too slow for how he wants to move right now. He's sure Claude knows it, too. Still, Sid can't begrudge him for it when he looks like this: flushed pink, head tipped back, dick bobbing as he rides Sid. 

"Good?" Flower asks, looking a cross between amused and turned on when Claude lets out a soft moan. 

Claude opens his eyes and shoots him a look. "Did your task say 'pump up Crosby's ego' or something?" 

Flower, the traitor, laughs. 

"Fuck off," Sid mutters, pulling Claude back down on his dick, fingers sliding against his hips. 

"Hey, you'd better be nice to me," Claude replies, breathless. "I'm the one doing all the work here."

"I mean, he's got a point," Flower agrees, smirking. Asshole. 

"You picked the position!" Sid says, pinching Claude's thigh. "You wanted it like this!" 

Claude bats his hand away, pinches a nipple in retaliation. "Excuses." He rolls his hips, and Sid forgets what he'd been going to say next. 

Flower's touches grow bolder as Claude watches Sid with half-shut eyes. Claude looks like he's enjoying the attention, and his slow pace slows even further when Flower's hands migrate to his ass. Sid can't see it when Flower pulls Claude's cheeks apart, but Claude makes a punched-out noise that Sid is going to be hearing in his _dreams_. Flower kisses Claude on the cheek at that and reaches for the lube, and Sid can feel his dick jump in anticipation of what's coming next. He's never actually done this before, but now that the moment is here, he's looking forward to it. 

The next few seconds come as a series of sensations. The slide of Flower's lubed finger against Sid's dick, not yet pressing in. The sudden clench of Claude's inner muscles. The bite of Claude's fingers against Sid's shoulder. 

The burn of string around his wrist. 

"Woah," Claude says, but Flower is already pulling back. Claude twists in Sid's lap so Sid can't see his face anymore, but the line of his body has gone stiff and tense. "Not to state the obvious, but what the fuck are you doing?" 

He sounds not a little alarmed, and Sid's heart sinks. It's not like they have to complete the task they've been given, but he can admit to himself that he's been looking forward to this. To Claude, a tiny voice in the back of his head whispers. 

"I was going to open you up," Flower says carefully. "For the task?" 

"No, I don't do that," Claude says, climbing off Sid. He snags his pants off the floor and pulls them on. Sid, for his part, pulls the sheet over his lap. He doesn't particularly fancy having this conversation with his dick out, and he's going to need to get rid of the condom as it is.

"Didn't Simmonds fist you one time?" he asks, staying seated while Claude and Flower are on their feet. 

Claude groans and runs a hand over his face. "Why does everyone think that? No, he didn't, so don't go thinking you two can cram your dicks up there," he says, pointing a finger between them, like they're suddenly going to jump him. "I want to skate again sometime this week." 

"I know what I'm doing, if that's the problem," Flower offers. "I've even bottomed before. We're not going to hurt you." 

Claude shakes his head, a blunt refusal. "That's it, then? That's your task?" 

"Yeah," Sid answers. People know better than to lie about something like that, not after Pasteur burst into flame in the 80's. Allegedly, of course, but apparently the scorch marks were pretty impressive. 

Fuck, Sid has a weird job. 

"Oh," Claude says. He looks conflicted for a second, then shrugs. "Hey, if I can't get my task, you can't get yours." 

Flower raises an eyebrow. "Can't or won't?" For all that the gods like setting tasks, they don't always understand modern life. The old gods ask for things like beheadings or burning extinct plants. The older gods ask in dead languages. 

"...won't," Claude says, raising an eyebrow in return. "At least, that's what I'd figured, after this." 

"If you think we won't do it, there's no harm in saying what it is," Sid points out, trying to be reasonable. "It's not like you'll be losing anything." That's always the problem with revealing whatever your task is—the other person can simply refuse to fulfill it. No point in giving your rival an advantage if you don't have to, or so the thought process goes. There are people who go for reciprocity, of course—close friends, people with strange tasks—but it's by no means required. 

Claude looks like he's considering, before he finally says, "Blowjob," evidently having come to a decision. 

"Receiving?" Flower asks, unperturbed, and Claude shrugs, nods. It's not exactly an uncommon task, and the fact that he'd thought Sid would refuse to go for it with his own task off the table doesn't sit well with him. 

"It doesn't matter either way," Claude continues. "Not unless your task is a general one and you want me to fuck one of you?" At Flower's head shake, he sighs. "Guess we're stuck, then." 

It's disappointing, in more ways than one. That's another thing about revealing tasks—once they're out in the open, there's no veneer of an excuse for fucking anyway. People still do, but Sid's not sure they can, not without making it into something larger than hockey and blessings and the inscrutable ways of the gods. He doesn't think he's imagining the hint of disappointment on Claude's face, but it could just be the lighting. 

Flower drums his fingers against his arm, a quick rhythm. "Okay, but what if we're going about this the wrong way?" he asks. "The task just said double penetration, it didn't say anything about, like, the same hole." 

Claude doesn't look any more enthusiastic about that than he had the previous possibility. 

Flower looks between them. "What?"

"He doesn't like giving blowjobs," Sid says, a second before his brain catches up with his mouth. Claude doesn't say anything, but he turns and gives Sid a long look. Sid tries to resist the flush he can feel climbing up his cheeks. It's not weird, knowing things like this. It _isn't_. For fuck's sake no one ever tries to tie Sid up, and he knows it's not from those tasks jumping over him. 

"It's fine," Sid continues, pulling his attention away from Claude. "We can just—" 

"I'll do it," Claude interrupts, and Sid's eyes jump to his, startled. "But I'm telling you, this had better be the best blowjob I've ever had," he warns.

"Deal," Flower agrees, grinning. Sid nods belatedly. "You want to set ground rules or get this party started?" He's being serious, but Claude just rolls his eyes, says, "Come on and kiss me already," and Flower does. 

It's not jealousy he feels at the sight of the two of them, Sid tries to tell himself, but whatever it is sits hot and heavy in the base of his stomach, thunders through his veins with the beat of his heart. They kiss for a minute—Flower's hand on Claude's back, Claude's hand on his face—and Sid can't decide if he wants more to turn away or stare. When they break apart, Flower mutters something to Claude in French, low enough that Sid can't hear, and Claude turns to face him. 

"Well?" Claude asks, cocking his head and putting his hands on his hips. "Waiting for an invitation?" and that's all it takes. 

"I mean, if you're offering," Sid says, feigning nonchalance. He drops the used condom in the trash and gets off the bed, skims his hands down the heat of Claude's sides. His hands must be cold, judging by the way Claude shivers, but he doesn't step back. 

"You drive me insane," Claude says, quietly but with all apparent sincerity, before wrapping a hand around Sid's neck and pulling him in. 

Kissing Claude is… something. It's always something, that's the best Sid would be able to describe it if anyone ever asked him, so he supposes it's a good thing no one ever has. They kiss for a long minute, Claude running his hands through Sid's hair, shifting to grip his hips, his shoulders, like he can't decide what he wants to touch, and Sid lets him. It's only when Sid feels Flower's hand against his hip that he pulls back.

"Bed?" Flower asks, and Sid shares a glance with Claude—pink lips, bright eyes—before nodding. 

They don't exactly move fast after that, but they move with intent. Claude is still ready from Sid fucking him, and he's who they focus their attention on. Sid has slept with teammates before—on rival teams or as winner's room tasks or just to let off steam—but that's not what he and Flower are here for tonight. It'd be pretty shitty to have Claude agree to spitroasting and then ignore him in favor of taking their own pleasure with each other.

Sid admittedly hasn't been a part of many threesomes, but apart from the winner's room and their tasks, this is just like any of those times. The only hangup comes when Sid starts to move down the bed so he can fuck Claude like he'd been before, and second guesses himself. For all their history, Sid is willing to bet that Claude trusts him more than he does Flower, and it probably makes more sense to have him blow Sid than for Sid to fuck him. Sid has no doubts that Claude will tell them if they do something he doesn't like, but still. This way seems easier. 

He catches Flower's eye, twitches his head to the side, and Flower seems to get it. He nods, and Sid switches places with him on the bed. He's pretty sure Claude doesn't notice the change in plan, since he's fishing condoms out of the drawer built into the headboard, and Sid's glad. Claude will never let him live it down if he thinks Sid is babying him. 

Claude flicks a condom at him, then Flower, and Sid rolls it on. He drops the wrapper in the trash, and passes Flower the lube. It's not like Claude isn't ready, but you can never have too much lube. 

Claude, for his part, looks utterly unselfconscious like this: sprawled on top of the sheets like he owns them, legs splayed. The only hint that he's not fully relaxed is the way his fingers keep fidgeting with the covers, but even that isn't enough to heat up the string. Sid thinks it's probably a toss up between nerves and anticipation. 

"Hands and knees?" he asks.

"Sure," Claude says. They get into position, and then there's nothing left to do but to go for it. That or back out, and Claude doesn't look like he's planning on taking that option. 

"Just hold still," he tells Sid, glancing up at him. He licks his lips, and Sid's dick jumps. This close, there's no way Claude doesn't notice, but he doesn't comment. He just opens his mouth and wraps his lips around Sid's dick with the barest hint of hesitation. 

Sid doesn't know anyone who doesn't like getting blowjobs, and he's no exception. Claude's mouth is hot and slick and perfect, even if he focuses on the head of Sid's dick instead of taking more into his mouth. Sid keeps his hands to himself and holds still like he'd promised, and Claude flicks his eyes up, takes a hand off the bed to jerk off what he doesn't have in his mouth. Despite Claude's lack of technique, something about this is doing it for Sid. He doesn't think he's going to last long at all.

Flower sinks into Claude's body carefully, and Sid can feel when he starts thrusting, the motion smooth and unhurried. Sid meets his eyes over Claude's back, and Flower grins at him, so familiar it makes Sid's teeth hurt, before looking away. They fuck like that for a handful of breathless minutes before Claude stops blowing Sid and rests his head against his hip. 

"Holy shit," he says, breath warm against Sid's thigh. "I know this is your task and all, but can you go a little harder? I'll be dead before you finish, at this rate." 

"Are you saying you don't like the way I fuck?" Flower asks, amused. He plants a hand on the small of Claude's back and rolls his hips languidly, and Claude growls. 

"Please remember where his teeth are," Sid says mildly, only for Flower to reach over and squeeze his shoulder. The change in angle must do something for Claude, because he makes a bitten-off sound that turns into a moan.

Flower raises an eyebrow. "You were saying?" He doesn't make Claude ask again, though, just picks up the pace as Claude gets his mouth back around Sid's dick, and then it's a whirl of sensation and sounds and the heat of Claude's mouth. 

Sid comes first, which isn't a surprise to him. As he's coming down, he busies himself tracing shapes across Claude's shoulders and down his spine while Flower fucks him. A part of him is overcome with the urge to set his tongue to Claude's back, taste the salt there, but he resists. By the time he's decided it probably wouldn't be too weird, Flower is finishing up and the moment is over, nothing left to do but toss the condoms in the trash. 

Claude sprawls on his back, dick still standing at attention."You promised me a blowjob," he says, and Sid is pleased to note that he doesn't sound concerned about them not holding up their end of the deal. 

"Shower first," Flower instructs, hauling Claude to his feet, and Claude makes a protesting sound but goes. 

The shower room is off the winner's room, in anticipation of moments just like this as well as a myriad of stranger ones. The tile is smooth and cream colored, and there are a couple of waterproof kneelers in a cabinet alongside a stack of towels. Flower grabs a kneeler and drops it on the floor of the shower while Sid fiddles with the water. He seems to remember water-based tasks being much more common his rookie year, but the god who asks for them must have fallen from prominence. 

It doesn't take long for the water to heat, and then they're all piling in. The spray from the shower heads means no one is going to have to stand on the periphery, getting chilled, which is a nice design feature. Claude doesn't look like he cares about that at all though, and as the only one of them who hasn't gotten off yet, Sid can sympathize. They've been in the water for maybe twenty seconds before Claude presses his thumb against Flower's lower lip, something heated in his gaze. 

"I think you made me a promise," Claude says, voice low over the sound of water bouncing off tile.

"Sure did," Flower agrees. He nudges the kneeler closer and folds onto his knees with a grace that Sid envies. He doesn't waste any time swallowing Claude down—no teasing licks or kisses up his thighs—and Claude makes a cutoff noise behind the hand he jams over his mouth. 

Flower pulls off, jacks Claude slowly, and fuck, but they look good together. "You don't have to be quiet," Flower says. He dips his head so his lips are brushing the tip of Claude's dick, and Sid can feel Claude shudder when Flower says, "I bet Sid would like it if you weren't," before going down on him again. 

Claude isn't exactly loud after that, but he does drop his hand. He doesn't look back at Sid, but Sid can't shake the feeling that Claude's putting on a show—not that he's faking anything, just that he isn't censoring himself. When Flower takes him all the way down, Claude makes a breathless noise and Sid's fingers tighten unconsciously on Claude's hips. 

"I can deepthroat too, you know," he murmurs, and Claude tips his head back, wet hair brushing against Sid's cheek.

"Not everything's a competition, Crosby." 

Flower blows Claude for longer than Sid would have guessed, considering how long he's been waiting to get off. Still, Sid doesn't feel the need to hurry anything along, not if Claude doesn't. It's good like this, arousal ebbing through him in waves, even if his body isn't up for anything. Warm skin, warm water. Flower's dark head bobbing and Claude's skin flushing pink. 

Something about the moment, or maybe the company, must set Claude off, because Flower pulls off and rests his chin on Claude's hip. "Are you laughing at me?" he asks, grinning up at Claude. 

"No," Claude lies, his sides shaking under Sid's palms. His laughter changes to a gasp as Flower sets his teeth to Claude's inner thigh, and Sid feels his pulse kick. There's something about watching the two of them, something electrifying, even as he wishes it was his knees on tile, his hands cupping Claude's ass, his mouth full of dick. 

Sid might not be participating beyond feeling Claude up while Flower deepthroats him, but there's no doubt in his mind Flower makes good on his promise. Sid bites lightly at Claude's shoulder, kisses behind his ear as he gets close, and Claude shakes against him. Though he curls toward Flower as he comes, it's Sid's arm he leaves crescent fingernail marks in. 

"Good enough for you?" Flower asks as he gets to his feet. His voice _sounds_ like he's been giving a blowjob, and Sid doesn't resist the urge to trace a finger along his lips. 

Claude considers for a moment before replying, "Adequate," but the effect is somewhat diminished by the way he's still out of breath. 

Flower bites Sid's finger gently, and Sid lets his hand drop. He reluctantly lets go of his hold on Claude's waist. "Careful, you don't want to give him a big head." 

They wash up quietly after that, mostly keeping to themselves. Sid has enough experience in communal showers that he knows how to keep his eyes to himself, but he still lets himself sneak a few glances. Claude looks good wet, but then again, Claude looks good in general. 

Sid doesn't look over at Flower. He's not sure he wants to know what Flower's thinking right now. 

It's Sid who turns the water off, and in the almost-silence that follows, everything echoes between them. Claude runs a hand through his hair and catches Sid's eye with an unreadable expression on his face. When Flower moves to get out, Sid breaks eye contact and follows him, feeling oddly shy. 

Flower sorts out the towels, and Sid dries himself off perfunctorily, the tile cold against his feet. There's something strangely intimate about watching someone dry off, knowing their precise routine of motion. Claude moves to dry off his legs, and Sid averts his eyes, wraps his towel around his waist. 

Flower drops his towel when he's done, utterly unselfconscious, and Sid turns his attention to him.

"I hate to fuck and run, but I've got plans," Flower says, not looking sorry at all. "I'll see you around." He squeezes Claude's shoulder and winks at Sid behind Claude's back, and then he's gone. Sid can hear him putting on his clothes in the other room, then the whisper of the door opening and shutting, and then they're alone. 

It's quiet now. Awkward in a way the rest of the evening hasn't been so far. Sid fumbles for what to say to break the tension as his hair drips in cool rivulets down his back, but it's Claude who speaks first.

"_Crisse_, do you not know how to use a towel?" He sighs, overly dramatic, and just like that, the awkwardness retreats. "You're going to kill someone with that puddle you're making." He grabs his own towel, and then all Sid can see is white terrycloth as Claude ruffles his hair. 

"I could have done that myself," Sid protests when Claude stops mauling him and drops the towel. He blinks and tries to rearrange the mess Claude has just made of his hair, only for his hands to be batted away. 

Claude huffs. "Sure you could." He combs Sid's hair—too long, due for a cut—away from his face, and Sid… Sid lets him. They're so close like this, Claude's fingers shower-warm and gentle against his skin before he drops his arm. He doesn't step back though, and that's what gives Sid the final push he needs. 

"You know, if you really want to make sure you've gotten your blessing, I'll have to blow you too," he suggests, feeling daring and nervous and _alive_. 

Claude hums. "I don't think I can get it up again anytime soon," he confesses, eyes searching Sid's face. 

Sid feels his mouth quirk. "Who says it has to be soon?" His voice comes out quieter than he'd been expecting, not as carefree as he'd been going for, but it doesn't matter. "Come home with me," he says, and it isn't a question. 

Claude simply looks at him, but Sid already knows what his answer is going to be. It helps that he's smiling, small and secretive and clear as day to Sid's eye.

"Okay," he says, and it feels… inevitable. Like they've been spinning toward this moment for a long time, but not as though they're late. They haven't missed a thing. 

"Okay," Sid repeats, a swell of warmth rising in him. Claude smoothes back the damp strands of hair that have fallen across Sid's forehead, tugs gently. 

"One question. You don't actually live at the rink, do you? Because I've heard some rumors…" 

Impulsively, Sid snags Claude's hand, presses a kiss to the back of his hand—maybe their first, maybe their thousandth. "Like you wouldn't do the same thing if you could."

"Not on your life," Claude laughs, but he's flushing red up his chest. He takes a step back and glances around, like his clothes will have mysteriously appeared from the other room. 

"Come on," Sid says, nudging their towels into a pile with his foot. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving." 

Claude raises his eyebrows, still pink. "And you're feeding me, too?" 

Sid shrugs and turns toward the door. "Wouldn't be much of a blowjob if you passed out from hunger, now would it?" 

"Well," Claude says, dry, "you've got me there." 

They gather up their discarded clothes in comfortable silence, Sid sneaking glances at Claude when he thinks he's not looking. By the time Sid has decided Flower must have stolen his socks when he'd left, Claude is ready and waiting for him. 

"Hey," he says as Sid turns the arm of his shirt right side out, but with Sid's eyes on him he seems to rethink what he'd been about to say. 

"What?" Sid asks, but Claude shakes his head. He doesn't look like he's having second thoughts, though. Not at all. "Aren't you going to tell me to make it good?" Sid nudges one of his sandals over so he can slide it on. "That's what you told Flower." 

"Nah," Claude says, something bright and sly in his eyes. "I know you'll make it good." He pulls his keys out of his pocket, spins them on his finger, and saunters out the door. He can't have any idea where Sid parked, and it's not like he needs his keys for anything, but it doesn't matter. Sid allows himself a moment to smile in the privacy of the room before heading after him. He can let him have the last word, at least for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [dreamwidth](https://enter-remiges.dreamwidth.org/) or [tumblr!](https://enter-remiges.tumblr.com/)


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